


Blank Maps

by theclaravoyant



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Gen, Multi, S3B finale spec, Team Bus - Freeform, Team Playground - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-11
Updated: 2016-05-11
Packaged: 2018-06-07 18:37:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,423
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6819526
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theclaravoyant/pseuds/theclaravoyant
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fitz sighed, tears already springing to his eyes. It’s not like he hadn’t faced death before, but he’d never thought about it for this long. Except for that one time. And even then, at least Simmons had been there. At least he’d got to say goodbye.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blank Maps

Inspired by [this song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=t8Z0qmT_cUI) (Blank Maps by Cold Specks) and the 3x21-3x22 promo.

 _I am, I am_  
_A goddamn believer._

 

“There’s only one thing to do,” he decided, out loud so that he wouldn’t back out.

He looked around one last time, still hoping. Waiting, while his heart beat so fast he was starting to get dizzy listening to it, for someone to come running and tell him that they’d sorted it and it wasn’t necessary. Waiting for somebody to find him.

They didn’t.

Fitz sighed, tears already springing to his eyes. It’s not like he hadn’t faced death before, but he’d never thought about it for this long. Except for that one time. And even then, at least Simmons had been there. At least he’d got to say goodbye.

_Maybe he still could._

But first thing’s first, get it in the air. 

-

Simmons put the pipette down and shook her hand out. It was starting to shake from exhaustion, but she’d hold out. She had to. They only had a few minutes left to fix this, and then it would all be over anyway.

“Jemma.”

Coulson had a flair for the dramatic, but this one was different. He was slightly breathless; shaken. He’d called her Jemma. Not Doctor Simmons, not even just Simmons. And the look on his face…

She ran out after him, gesturing for Lincoln to continue. Mack fell into step beside her, almost looming over Coulson in the barely contained rush to get to his office and find out what was going on. 

“May-“ Simmons wondered as soon as they stepped inside.

“- Where’s Fitz?” Mack finished. 

“He’s on the Zephyr,” May reported reluctantly, and nodded to the screen.

“Hey. Jemma.” His terror was obvious, choking his every word. “Mack. Where’s Daisy?”

“We’re working on it,” Coulson promised. He could hardly stand to look at Fitz. The tears on his face, on a screen that big, were easily the size of a hand. (Massaging his robot hand with his human one, Coulson couldn’t see what Fitz had apparently found so comforting about it, but at least it gave him something to do with them, useless as they were.)

“Okay, well...” Fitz sniffed. “Let’s get started then.” 

He drew a deep breath, and let his eyes wander away from the screen. If he had to look them in their faces, the words would never come out. 

“Mack. You have been a great friend to me and looked out for me even when…even when nobody else did, so…”

“You’re welcome, Turbo,” Mack saluted with a nod. 

Fitz nodded too, fighting to gather himself, to continue. 

“Coulson – believe it or not I actually had a great time. Mostly.” He laughed briefly, and Coulson smiled. For a moment, they made eye contact – just a moment, then it was too much and Fitz looked away again. Coulson let his eyes linger this time. Fitz was looking off to the side, maybe at some gauge or other that monitored his impending likely fate. He sniffed and wiped at his face. 

“Jemma, I – I love you. I love you so much. Hey, there, I finally said it. Huh. That wasn’t so hard.” 

He smiled, and she couldn’t help but smile back, even as the tears started running down her face to rival his. She intertwined her fingers together, hoping that maybe she’d feel like she was with him up there.

“I love you too,” she whispered. 

May shuffled just a subtle sidestep closer to Simmons, and Fitz’ expression sobered. 

“May,” he said, locking his eyes on hers. “Thanks.” 

If it was anything less than the end of the world, she would have berated him for his foolishness, albeit a scolding lined with concern. As it was, though, she said nothing of the sort.

“It’s been an honour,” she promised, bowing her head.

Fitz opened and closed his mouth a few times, as if he wanted to say something more and didn’t know what, or how.

“…Still no Daisy?” he settled on, eventually. 

“I’m sure she’s on her way,” Coulson pointed out. His mouth hung open for a while extra too, but he knew exactly what he wanted to say, and how. He wanted to beg Fitz to wait, just a little while longer, just to see if one more thing would work. But then he’d want another one more, and another, and of course if he had his way this would never happen. Fitz would have left it as long as he could. He had to trust in his agents, and honour that.

Precious seconds passed in silence, and Daisy was still nowhere to be seen. Fitz’ terror was starting to give way to grief, so he swallowed it down and checked the monitors for the hundredth time. It was getting close. Too close now to wait much longer.

“Okay.” His voice softer, but more grounded now, he began to explain. “The best way to do this is to bring it down over the ocean, and there’s – well, there’s not much ocean left. I’m on route to hit about five miles out of Boston. That’s English Boston. I’m going to need a hazmat team out there asap. Bury it in concrete. You know the drill. I don’t want so much as a screw from this thing seeing the light for a hundred thousand years.”

Simmons stared up at him. Somehow, somewhere, her mind was taking the important notes, she was sure, but at the forefront of her mind was how strangely confident he looked. He wasn’t looking at them, but still, he carried himself well. He moved smoothly and calmly between the instruments, levers and switches and dials, calculating his own demise.

“A hundred thousand years,” Simmons murmured. She’d never see his face again. She’d never see the slightest fragment of anything that was Fitz, ever again.

“I need you to do this for me, Jemma.” 

Fitz was looking straight at the screen again. Simmons looked around. Was this really happening, had he really just said her name? Was it really going to end this way? 

“Please,” he begged. “Please, promise me. A hundred thousand years.”

Simmons nodded.

The picture cut out, and her heart plummeted. In an instant, it was back, but the comfort didn’t last long. 

“The cloa- ing from the -ssile is interfer- with – systems. This is - . Jemma? You know wher – is?”

“Yes.”

“Pr- ise me. Promise me.”

“I promise.”

The static returned, and this time, it didn’t let up.

- 

It seemed like hours before the click of the door interrupted the sea of static. Instantly noticing the tension in the room, Daisy fought to quiet her panting.

“What’s going on?” she demanded. “What did I miss? Where’s Fitz?”

It didn’t take long for her eyes to track over the suspicious stillness of everyone in the room, and up to the fuzzy, pixel-filled screen. The pieces fell together and the realisation hit her like a wave, stalling her breath in her chest and making every movement ten times slower as she waited and waited for the shock and pain to subside and it did not. 

“Not him,” she whispered. “Not him.”

She’d tried to warn him, and somehow that just made it worse. She’d tried to warn him at gunpoint, and maybe that was why – part of why – he hadn’t listened. Damn him, he wouldn’t have listened anyway. He was too much of a bloody hero. 

“Not him.” 

In case her knees were thinking about giving out, she sunk downward. When no chair was offered, she sunk all the way to the floor and lifted her knees and hugged herself. Suddenly, all she could think about was the tender way he used to hold her, like he’d protect her from anything if he could. He always had been her family; she’d always known that, she’d just never properly apologised for the things she’d said. He’d forgive her, of course, but it still would have been good to say. He deserved to hear it. 

He _had_ deserved to hear it, she corrected.

Someone – Simmons, she quickly realised – settled in beside her. 

“Thinking about hugs?” Simmons asked.

“Yeah.” 

“Me too.”

Daisy pulled Simmons closer. Simmons rested her head on Daisy’s shoulder, and Daisy rested her temple on top of Simmons’ head, and they sat and stared. Not at the static, just at nothing. They sat in a timeless bubble of grief. Somewhere outside it waited their pathway out, but for now, the grief was enough. They’d just saved the world. For once, they had time.


End file.
